


You Have One New Message

by Kmacksinclair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmacksinclair/pseuds/Kmacksinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock may be dead, but he still gets emails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John to Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is set post-reichenbach and the first chapter was written mainly to cope with my own feelings about the episode, and it just grew from their! Feedback is always appreciated!

**3 day after**.  
Dear Sherlock,  
You tit. You absolute fucking tit. I know you. I know you’ve done this on purpose, just to wind me up. You’re probably sitting up there, (down there? fuck knows) laughing at all the fuss everyone is making about you. You love the attention. I know you.  
Well you won’t win. I won’t cry, I won’t scream, fuck I might not even show up to your bloody funeral. You may be able to manipulate the rest of the world into doing what the fuck you want but not me, never me. I know you better than that.  
I knew you better than that.  
John.

 

 

 **3 weeks after**.  
Dear Sherlock,  
I went. Of course I went. How could I not?  
It was horrible. The church was full to the brim. It was hailing down, the stones hitting off the ground and shooting back into the air. No one cried. (Well, apart from Mrs Hudson.) But that made it worse. It was like everyone knew this loss couldn’t ever be cried away. You are – you were- too special for a simple cry to relieve the huge gap in the world now you’re gone.  
Mycroft asked if I wanted to say anything – I declined knowing I would probably end up just swearing and calling you every name under the sun.  
Either that or I would have broken. I remember reading that some guy called Cooley (Yes, I do read books, Sherlock) once argued that we see ourselves how others see us. And in standing up in front of a crowd of people who seemed to expect me to be a weeping mess, I feared that would be exactly what I’d become.  
So Mycroft addressed the crowd. He read your eulogy in French, then simply said ‘I will not say goodbye, brother, as you are not gone.’ When I asked days later, he said you requested his eulogy be read in a language I couldn’t understand. When I asked him why, he simply pursed his lips as if he was about to say ‘Ask him yourself’.  
So by declining to speak and repeating ‘He’s such a fucking tit’ over and over again I managed to keep myself together. Until.  
Until the cab ride home when ‘Time to say goodbye’ came on the radio and I started sobbing like an absolute knob. Thanks, for that.  
John.

 

 **3 months later**.  
‘I won’t say goodbye, as you’re not gone’.  
That’s what Mycroft said, that you were not gone.

It’s been going round my head every day since I sent my last email.  
‘You’re not gone’.  
And you’re not, are you? You’re out there, waiting. Waiting until you can make a dramatic comeback and become the fucking hero again. You’re probably hiding out in Switzerland, driving Mycroft’s ‘associates’ crazy by keeping pigs blood in milk cartons. You’re probably reading this now thinking how pathetic it is that I’m emailing a supposedly dead man, and how foolish I am for thinking…. Thinking I meant anything to you.  
Because I clearly didn’t, did it? How could I if you were willing to leave me here without so much as a goodbye.  
And no, leaving me an unbelievable amount of money in your will does not count as a goodbye. Nor does leaving me ‘the skull’.  
But I’m confused (Yes, confused, it’s an emotion, Sherlock.) As judging by the money you left to me you certainly did not need help with the rent. So, what was it Sherlock? Did you just enjoy the fun of having someone to torment, someone to fuck about with. Someone to save your life from crazy taxi drivers or to blow themselves just so you could have a few more gulps of air.  
Because the truth is, Sherlock, I would have done anything for you. If that had meant killing myself just so I didn’t have to live without you…. So you didn’t have to die without me. But, that’s obviously not what you wanted.  
Forever alone.  
Forever yours.  
John.

 

 **3 year after**.  
Dear Sherlock,  
I have nothing to say anymore.  
Not just to you, to anyone.  
You once warned me that you went for days without speaking a single word.  
Right now, I feel like I will live the rest of my days in silence.  
Rest in peace.  
John.


	2. Mycroft to Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may be dead, but he still gets emails.

**3 Days After Brother**. I cannot explain how sorry I am for my part in your current situation. But I must inform you, your decision was a foolish one, and you are very lucky to still be alive. As much as you dislike me I would have thought that you would have known I will always find a way out of your troubles, and ones that don’t involve throwing yourself off buildings.

Since surveillance caught a drift of the sniper holding up in the flat opposite the hospital, I can only assume you couldn’t deduce any other way out, and that for now you wish to be alone.

However, when you do decide to resurrect yourself, do give Doctor Watson a call. He seems to have missed the signs and has concluded you are, in fact, dead. And even if you hold nothing more than companionship for him, I can assure you he feels rather strongly about you.

Give my love to the lovely girl who works in the mortuary, Molly, isn’t it?

Mycroft.

 

 

**3 Weeks After**

Brother, Oh, Sherlock. The sociopath that cared.

After finding the sniper placed opposite Bart’s, and shall we say a little ‘reasoning’ on my behalf, he confessed that while he was informed you needed to jump his target was never you at all.

Lestrade, really, Sherlock? While I had guessed your warmth for dear Mrs Hudson after the American-through-the-window incident, I had wrongly presumed Lestrade was nothing more than a colleague to you. And then of course, there is Doctor Watson.

While I know you acted only in complete selflessness, I must say a bullet through his head may have been kinder. Surveillance informs me he has barely left the flat since your ‘funeral’, and when he does it is only for milk and an hour or two at the cemetery. He still holds himself together, though. I fear that may be the death of him, as he seems unwilling to accept any help anyone tries to offer him.

I must say having your eulogy read in French was for the best after all, as I think it would have torn the dear doctor to shreds. Emotionally, of course, before you get pedantic.

I have arranged for him to be there at the reading of your will, and I will keep to my word, brother. I will make sure he is safe from the harm of others. And I do feel confident that in a few months when things have all settled down, perhaps it would not be a bad idea to let him know. If not of your wellbeing, at least of your reasons for jumping. According to his therapist’s notes, he blames himself. For what or why, I do not know, but I do know a broken heart is a heavy burden to bear. But, I’m sure you know that too.

And do answer you phone, Sherlock. I hate emails.

Mycroft.

 

 

**3 Months After**

Brother, Since I have no other way of contacting you since you insist on being an utter child, I regret to have to inform you via the internet that Doctor Watson was arrested last night for ‘Drunk and disorderly conduct’.

Fortunately between Lestrade and myself we have managed to free him of any charges, and keep his boss and his girlfriend out of it all. Unfortunately he has been banned from the cemetery and was given a very stern row from Mrs Hudson.

However, before last night’s incident, he has seemed to be doing rather well. He has a new job, teaching at Bart’s Hospital I believe, and has eventually started to sort out all your ‘experiments’.

I’ve always found reactions to loss to be the true telling of a man. In the case of Doctor Watson, there seemed to be a great deal of conflict between the soldier who kept strong and compact until the very last moment and the caring doctor who fell in love with a man who kept eyes in the fridge. It seems the later overtook last night as I read in the police report that he seemed to be shouting ‘I want the pickled eyeballs back’ to your ‘grave’.

I also did as you requested at our last meeting and did a full background search on the new girlfriend. Apart from a rather heated argument on facebook with an ex-boyfriend about a few personal photos he showed a colleague, she is as clean as they come. I guess your instincts were wrong, dear brother. Either that or a certain green eyed monster is clouding your judgement. But either way you don’t have anything to worry about, due to the lack of a certain toiletry item on Doctor Watsons recent shopping lists, I doubt they will last much longer.

He has been spending a large amount of time with Miss Hooper though, although I assume by the sharp intake of breath you took the last time we met when I mentioned her name, you already knew that.

As much as I want to empathise with your pain, I ask you to not interfere. Until you decide it’s safe enough for you to unveil yourself to him, you need to understand he is not betraying you, nor are his actions any comment on his feelings for you, and if you care as much as you seem to think you do, you will let him attempt to be happy.

Text me when you’ve decided where you are heading next, I do worry.

Mycroft.

 

 

**3 years after.**

Sherlock,

You are the most utterly frustrating human being I have ever come across, and I work in government.

I have now called you 56 times, left 76 text messages and have every available person in Europe searching for you, and yet you still are nowhere to be found at the time you are most needed!

So as a last resort, I must beg you via the _internet_ , to come home. I will not even bother explaining the situation as I know fine well you have listened to every voicemail, so all I will say is this. I expected more from you. The man you claim to love needs you by his side and you are refusing to co-operate out of pure spite. Spite that he could survive without you, the Great Sherlock Holmes, and that he had managed to get to a place where he was actually living a normal life, and now he’s nowhere to be found because he thinks he’s losing his mind because a person he believed to be dead decided showed up at the corner of Baker Street!

I swear Sherlock, you better hope that surveillance find him before he does something incredibly stupid, or you will get your wish and I will stop worrying about you. And here I was thinking you were the sociopath that cared.

Mycroft.


	3. Molly to Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may be dead, but he still gets emails.

2 Days After  
Hi, Sherlock.  
I found your note when I got back from work. You really didn’t need to say thank you, it was no trouble, none at all. Would have been nice to see you off, but I understand, you don’t do goodbyes. Sorry, that, I didn’t mean John, I meant…  
Sorry. John was at the hospital today. I came in and he was just… sitting. Pretty much where I found you that night, in the dark. I was thinking about trying to talk to him, but he seemed like he wanted to be left alone. I think he just missed the company. He did seem, angry, though. I don’t know, I suppose it’s natural, but I was worrying… Although you did say he had a temper, so probably just John being… John. He brought his laptop, as well. I know I shouldn’t have been spying, and I wasn’t, but I did notice at one point he seemed to be writing an email… to you. He did seem to relax after he sent it though, so maybe it’s his way of letting it out.   
It was weird, I spent the morning trying to convince you to eat, and then spent the afternoon trying to convince him to eat! The weirdest part is you were easier to convince than he was! I did, though, manage to convince him to eat something, even if it was just a packet of crisps. I’ve spoken to Mrs Hudson and I’m sure between us we can make sure he’s eating while he’s off work at least. Mrs Hudson suggested contacting the women from the surgery, Sarah, to try and get her to help out. I told her I thought it would be inappropriate. I know you didn’t really care for her and I didn’t think you’d want… You know, them to get closer.   
I also wanted to say thanks for giving me your new number, it was really sweet. Don’t worry, though, I won’t phone to chat or anything! In fact I hate talking on the phone, or texting, so I’ll only contact you through here every once in a while.   
Seeing John, today, made me realise that no matter how much I think I miss you, I’m not important. No, no, I know I am important, as you made me realise, but I mean that he misses you more, he needs the support more, he…  
He will be fine, Sherlock. I’ll make sure of it.  
Molly xxx

 

2 weeks after  
Hi, Sherlock.  
I feel horrible telling you this, but you said in your last email that you wanted to know every time John did something… not John-like, so I thought I’d better let you know.   
It was after your funeral, things started going wrong. It was a great turn out, Sherlock, your funeral that is. Even after all those lies so many people still support you. Your eulogy sounded lovely, even though I could only catch a few phrases, A Level French seems to have ‘deleted’ itself in my hardrive, (ha ha)! I know you wrote it, though. It was obvious, even though your brother seems very similar to you in some ways, the words were definitely yours.   
John seemed to deal with the whole day rather well. He smiled politely, talked to a few members of your family, we even spent a while chatting about you. Well, you’re experiments mostly, he seemed a bit… reluctant, to actually speak about you. He had his cane with him, as well, but like you said it was to be expected the limp would return, so I wasn’t that worried.  
But after the reception, and everything, it got quite late into the night and he just showed up. I gave him my address at the funeral, just in case he ever needed to talk, or something. While I was trying to look out for him I never really thought he would want to speak to me. But was there, on my doorstep. He had been crying, Sherlock. I asked him in, and for a while we just sat in silence. He seemed so… broken. It hurt, I wanted to tell him everything, that you were okay and safe and he didn’t have to be like this… but obviously I didn’t. I just let him talk. He explained that he kept having these… turns, where one minute he would be fine and calm and he could keep himself together, but then something would trigger him and he’d lose control. He said he was scared, because of his sister and her drinking problems, that the same would happen to him. He said that he kept thinking he didn’t want to hurt anybody the way that his sister’s drinking had hurt him, but then he realised no one would really care. I didn’t know what to say, Sherlock. He needed you and you could have been there and… And all I could do was repeat what you said to me the night before you left my flat.  
‘You matter more than you will ever realise.’  
He just looked at me. At first it seemed like I made him angry, that it had made things worse, but then he… smiled. Properly smiled, and told me that I was way too good for you. (I don’t agree, just to make that clear! And I don’t think he really meant it, anyway).   
By the time we finished chatting it was way too late for him to go back, plus I was worried, I didn’t want him to be alone.   
He left in the morning before I woke up, and left a note saying thank you and that he wouldn’t… bother me again. You too are so alike, you know. But anyway since that night he hasn’t came to mine, or to Bart’s, and when I saw Lestrade the other day he said he hadn’t heard anything from him either so I thought I’d better go check on him, for you. I went round yesterday after work, and at first he wouldn’t answer the door. But after half an hour he seemed to realise I wasn’t going away so he let me in.  
John can draw, did you know that? He’s… incredible. There must have been hundreds of sketches, mostly of you, of course. Some taken from the newspaper articles, some just from memory. They were small and intricate and… beautiful. (There were also some rather funny ones of Anderson being eaten by lions.) He said it was his way of trying to get his feelings out, he thought that if he made enough maybe he would be able to just… let you go. It hadn’t worked. We sat for a while as I looked at the sketches and I remembered the day he’d came to the lab. I suggested he could maybe write to you again, maybe it would help. Again he gave me this… look, the same one from the night at my flat. He seemed… emotional. Eventually he said that the only person that had ever really noticed how he was feeling or what affected it was… you. I was quite flattered, to be honest!   
He said he’d give it a try, so you might want to expect another email soonish.   
I am worried about him, Sherlock. I know it’s only been a few weeks but he seems to be getting worse rather than better… I will keep a closer eye on him though, I promise.   
I hope you’re okay, too. I know it must be hard being away from him.  
I’ll keep you updated.  
Molly xxx

 

2 Months Later  
Hi, Sherlock.  
I need to tell you something that I’m not sure you will want to here. But I can’t not tell you, Sherlock. As much as I don’t want to.   
John kissed me last night.  
We had been out for something to eat after we’d both finished work, and at the end of the meal, when he asked for the bill, I could see something was… off. It took me back to that look in his eye the day just after you died he showed up at Bart’s, and I didn’t think he should be alone, so I asked him if he wanted to come back to mine for coffee.  
For a while I just sat and listened as he talked about patients and co-workers and how someone had ordered the wrong prescription pads and how he had been thinking about quitting the surgery and trying out for a teaching job at Bart’s and how the new nurse had asked him to go for a drink but he’d had to say no as he still didn’t feel like dating. And after about an hour he stopped suddenly and gave me that same… look. I waited, expecting him to say thank you or sorry or the things he usually says when he gives me that look but he didn’t say anything. He just leant forward and… Kissed me. I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand all I could think about was all those things you told me while you had stayed at mine, about how you felt about him, and on the other hand… I wanted to kiss him back.   
After a few seconds he realised I wasn’t kissing back and got up, looking embarrassed. I told him I was sorry but I just couldn’t be with him like that and that he should perhaps give the new nurse a chance since she seemed really lovely and that I really wanted us to still be friends. He smiled and apologised and after a few moments made a few excuses and left.  
I am so sorry, Sherlock. I…   
He’s so lonely.  
He loves you, you know he does. But you’ve left him thinking that you killed yourself because he wasn’t enough for you and it’s killing him.  
But I know none of this matters as you know what’s right and you won’t come back or tell him anything until you’ve decided everything is how you want it.  
But this isn’t about you.  
Molly. Xx.

 

2 years later  
Hi, Sherlock.  
I know you hate me, and I know when we met you asked me never to contact you ever again but it’s been so long I thought I’d just keep you updated.  
John and I are still together, but I’m sure you know that. He got a job teaching at Bart’s and he loves it even though he complains. He moved into my flat but Mrs Hudson refuses to let out yours. We donated all your science stuff to a school, and the rest of your stuff is in a storage facility your brother rented out. John said that it was stupid keeping it as you wouldn’t be needing it, but I could tell he was relieved at not having to throw it away. For my birthday he bought me a black kitten, and we named it Sherlock. I know you’ll hate the sentiment, but it does remind me of you.   
He still misses you, and every now and then he’ll have a bad day, or week, but he gets through them. I still miss you, too, Sherlock. I know you feel like I’ve deliberately set out to hurt or betray you, and I never wanted that.   
I hope you’re safe, and I hope you can find happiness, too.  
Molly xxx

 

3 years later  
Sherlock,  
I don’t like being rude but I really, REALLY, hate you right now.  
How could you do this? You knew he was fine, safe and happy and yet you still have to show up and ruin everything.  
It’s been a week, Sherlock. A week since he saw you in Baker Street, a week since he left me a voicemail saying he thought he was going mad, A WHOLE WEEK since anyone has seen or heard from him, and it is ALL YOU FAULT!  
I swear Sherlock, if he’s been harmed or hurt himself in any way, I will never, EVER, forgive you.  
And if you see him, please let me or Lestrade or ANYONE know. And please just end this once and for all.  
Molly Watson.


	4. Sherlock to John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may be dead, but he still gets emails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is set four years after Sherlock's 'death', and around 6 months after Molly's most recent letter to Sherlock. Enjoy :)

**4 years after**

John,

I am gathering by the lack of replies to my texts and phone calls, and the fact you will not answer the door when I come round to your flat, that you still do not wish to speak to me.

As much as I understand, I do feel that you need to understand how very, very sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you.

I’m assuming that Mycroft explained the situation with the sniper, that they were going to kill you John, shoot you dead. I obviously couldn’t let that happen, but I’m assuming your anger isn’t at my saving your life.

I should have found a way to let you know, to let you see that I was okay. But please know that I was only trying to protect you. Moriarty may be dead but his network is vaster and more powerful than anyone could have ever imagined, and I knew all it would take was one photograph, one snippet of an email reply and you would have had a bullet through the brain. I’ve never been so careful in my entire life, John, and it seems I have ended up doing exactly what I was trying to avoid.

It was just over a year ago that I decided it was safe. Moriarty’s right hand man, Sebastian Moran, had been taken care of, along with most of the top rankers. The lower levels were all paid of courtesy of Mycroft, and it seemed I could finally come back home. However when I asked Mycroft to let you know in advance, so you didn’t think you were going mad, he gave me this… look. Not the typical ‘ _I’m much more powerful than you so be at my will’_ look, or even the ‘ _I’m ever so amused at your inability in social situations_ ’ look. It was… sympathy, I think. I already knew of yours and Molly’s relationship, but I had never imagined…

You married her, John. Perhaps the two people I had cared about most had started a new life together and had left any memories of me in the dust. Now I will admit I was being childish, John. I had stopped all contact with her after discovering your mutual feelings, and that was entirely wrong of me. But the complete and utter truth was that I just missed you so much and I was jealous that she was allowed to spend any time with you at all, never mind in a romantic way.

And by now I’m guessing you have figured out that my feelings for you went way past friendship, Doctor Watson. I cared (I still do, care) for you more than I had ever wanted to. But I had put that aside in hope that I keep your friendship, your companionship. But they fact that Molly Hooper was being allowed into your heart the way I had desperately wanted to be… Quite frankly I think it hurt more than hitting the concrete below Bart’s ever could have.

But as much as I was jealous, I always felt that, once it was safe, I would still have a place in your life. I expected a few weeks, maybe months of hate and outrage, but I knew that in the end it be okay. But by getting married, by _moving on_ , it felt as if you had replaced me, John. And the emotional distress which followed is my only excuse for my incredibly selfish actions.

When I walked into Baker Street on that day, I had never anticipated you would have reacted so badly. I wasn’t idiotic enough to expect a ‘Welcome Home’ party, however causing you to go AWOL for an entire week was never in my weekend plans.

I searched and searched for you, and you seemed to be the case I was destined to be unable to solve, until I got word for Lestrade ( _Who, for your information, punched me in the face at first glance, later commenting ‘it was what John would have wanted’.)_ that you had been found by Mrs Hudson, sitting on the floor of 221b Baker Street.

I swore on that day that I would do everything in my power to correct my mistakes and that is why I am insisting you that forgive Molly at once. She knew as well as I did that you knowing of my existence would have meant your death, and every lie she told was forced apon her by either Mycroft or myself. She never wanted to hurt you, either, and tried with all her effort to stop me from hurting you either. She loves John, and as much as it pains me to say it she deserves you, John. I, however, do not, and can assure you that once I have been informed that you have read and understood this email, I will not attempt to contact you again.

However, if you do decide to be idiotic and wish to speak to me, I promise not to play dead again.

Consider me, Doctor Watson, very much yours.

SH

 


	5. John to Sherlock, again,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may be dead, but he still gets emails.

**4 years after**

Dear Sherlock,

You’re not dead. Let’s have dinner.

And yes, this will require you to actually eat something.

John.


	6. Epilogue

It had been 5 long years since Sherlock Holmes didn’t die.

As sat in the living room of 221b Baker Street in his brand new, expensive (Westwood) suit, Sherlock considered how even though he didn’t believe in luck, any ordinary person would say he was very lucky indeed.

Lucky to have survived the fall in the first place, for one. Obviously he had it all planned out and he hadn’t risked his life _too_ much, however even not many clever people could say they had fallen off of a building and lived to tell the tale. Then again not many clever people had surprisingly un-idiotic morticians to give their assistance in fake autopsy reports either. Sherlock didn’t have many regrets from throughout his life (Seven, to be precise), and two of those involved Molly. The first being his correct but cruel deduction however many Christmas’s ago, and the second was again his cruelty in the form of almost ruining her marriage not so long ago. Again, another argument of his apparent ‘luck’ in her willingness to forgive him on both accounts. Sherlock was not particularly skilled on a social level, but even he knew that he had stepped outside the boundaries of a friendship, and that she would have had every right to hate him for the rest of her life.

And they were friends, now. It had taken a while but Sherlock had gotten used to the term, although he still refused to refer to Mycroft as anything other than an enemy.  And then there was John, his _best_ friend, despite everything. However, it had taken until only hours before to make the doctor fully forgive him.

John moved back into 221b Baker Street days after they started speaking again. And it was almost as if nothing had happened. They took cases, they fought, John made tea and Sherlock kept heads in the fridge… The only thing that was different was a small, nagging feeling Sherlock could not shake off. After some internet research and a rather painful ‘chat’ with Lestrade, Sherlock named the feeling guilt. Because John had been happy, before. And while he was fine, he was no longer happy. And Sherlock knew his own part in this, and knew he needed to fix it.

 

Two months after John had moved back to Baker Street, he and Sherlock were sitting in their living room, both reading, when Sherlock decided it was time.

‘John?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why haven’t you rekindled your romantic attachment to Molly?’

Soon after John had started speaking to Sherlock again, he had announced one night that he was meeting Molly for a ‘talk’. Four hours and thirty seven minutes later he had returned, looking exhausted, and had gone straight to bed. The next day while on a visit to Bart’s, Sherlock had assumed that Molly and John would take this time to inform him they were in a romantic relationship once more. However, he was in this case, wrong. In fact, it became obvious that not only were John and Molly not informing him of a relationship, that there was in fact none to inform him about. Of course they were still legally married, but they treated each other as no more than friends. This had puzzled Sherlock, and unable to find out the answer on his own, he simply asked.

‘What do you mean, Sherlock?’

‘Molly and yourself were previously in a romantic relationship. You broke off that relationship when you felt she had betrayed you. You obviously no longer have any of those negative feelings due to your relaxed body language when around her, so why have you not rekindled your previous relationship?’

John sighed as if he was dreading whatever he was going to have to do next, and set his book down on the table, avoiding the pool off acid which Sherlock had still not cleaned up.

‘Sherlock, it is fairly obvious that you have made an attachment to me that goes beyond friendship.’

Sherlock was confused, a feeling he did not appreciate.

‘Yes, John, since I have stated this myself it is obvious. However, you do not share those feelings.’

It wasn’t a question, they both knew the answer.

‘No, Sherlock, I do not. But I do care about you, and neither Molly nor I want to… We don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sherlock. So we decided between us that we were happy being friends, and therefore not reforming our previous relationship and hopefully we can all just go back to being normal. Well, what’s normal for us!’

John gave out a half-hearted laugh, one that Sherlock did not respond to.

‘But you want to be together? Therefore being apart is causing you both emotional pain?’

‘…yes, in some form. But we can cope with it, for your sake. You aren’t used to these kinds of emotions, and you’ve already shown you can’t handle them.’

Sherlock sat bold upright, making a sudden realisation. The three years he was away all he had worried about was that pretty much the only two people he really, honestly cared about would stop caring about him, that they would just leave him. But now both of them had agreed to put their own feelings aside, even after all he had done, just to try and protect him.

It had taken a few days, but Sherlock had eventually managed to convince John he was fine with he and Molly getting back together. More than fine, actually. He insisted on it. John moved back into Molly’s flat, but he would pop over to Baker Street at least once a week, and still went along on any cases that were more than an eight. However, Sherlock knew John still had not fully forgiven him. He knew that between the laughs and the cases, John was still disappointed and hurt by Sherlock’s actions. And while he understood, this was not acceptable. He needed to do something completely and utterly selfless to finally make up for all his selfishness in the past.

Three weeks, four days and two hundred and twenty three Google searches later, Sherlock solved the case. Unfortunately, the solution involved Mycroft.

 

‘Brother dear, please don’t tell me you’ve phoned just for a chat? While I’m glad you’ve realised you do have some emotions after all, I really don’t have the time…’

‘Oh do shut up Mycroft. I need a favour. And considering your part in my sort of death, you must grant me it’.

‘I thought we put our differences aside after all my favours in keeping you sort of dead?’

‘This isn’t for me, Mycroft. This is for John.’

 

After a rather unpleasant hour on the phone, the plans were set in motion. While he hated to admit it, Sherlock was extremely grateful to have Mycroft as a brother. Not only had he managed to secure the safety of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and John, he was also the sole reason Sherlock’s plans had been able to be set in motion at all.

After all, Sherlock was never much of an event planner…

 

Another bit of ‘luck’, he considered, as he picked up his violin, letting out a few chords while he waited. He had worried the flat would seemed all too empty without John. But while he had physically left, along with a majority of his belongings, Sherlock noticed that it felt as if he was still there. And of course, at this moment in time, he was.

‘Sherlock? Is that you?’

John called out from the bathroom, sounding irritated already. He hated surprises just as much as Sherlock did, and even John’s deductions were no match for the two Holmes brothers.

‘Of course it’s me, who else would it be?’

‘I don’t know, a murderer, perhaps? A mad man that wants to skin you and make you into shoes? It is your flat Sherlock, I never know what to expect.’

John stepped out of the bathroom wearing a suit identical to Sherlock’s (Not in size, obviously) and looking indeed very irritated.

‘Are you ready then?’

‘I would be if I knew where the hell we were going!’

‘Well, we better leave so we can get there so you can find out!’

And with that Sherlock practically galloped out of the flat (This was rather fun, this whole surprise thing.) with John trotting miserably behind him.

One of Mycroft’s cars was already waiting for them, and with the sight of it John let out another sigh.

‘Really, Mycroft too? It’s bad enough Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly are all in on it, but your brother?’

Sherlock just smirked as they drove away from Baker Street, while John made another realisation.

‘Blacked out windows? Really? Am I being taken to be beheaded or something?’

‘Of course not, John. If I was going to have to beheaded I would have it done in my own flat – the experiments work best if the body is as fresh as possible.’

With that both men stayed comfortably quiet for the rest of the journey. Twenty minutes later the black car slowed to a stop, making the Doctor turn anxiously to the Detective, eager to get whatever Sherlock had been planning over and done with.

‘So, are you going to tell me where we are or do I have to put a bag over my head now?’

‘We’re at a church.’

Now John was confused.

‘A church? Why on earth… You don’t believe in anything religious, we have no reason to be…’

‘While yes, you are correct, I do not believe in anything to do with religion, Molly and yourself both have your own tenuous links and a church is the most common place for a wedding so therefore…’

‘Wait, what? A wedding? Who’s getting married?’

‘You are.’

Sherlock smiled gently, only irritating John further.

‘What? Sherlock, I’m already married, I can’t marry again…’

‘No, but I have heard from certain unnamed sources that couples can renew their vows due to a number of reasons, such as them spending a period of time apart or just to ‘celebrate their love’, apparently. And since you rudely excluded me from your first wedding, I felt it necessary to organise a second where the best man could actually be present.’

After a few minutes of utter shock, John choked out a reply.

‘You… organised for me and Molly to… renew our vows?’

‘Well, unfortunately I have to give Mycroft’s minions a lot of the credit, plus Mrs Hudson for all the food and Lestrade with contacting your friends and family…’

‘…but it was your idea?’

‘Well no, people have been renewing their vows for…’

The detective was yet again cut off, something which he would usually not tolerate, but the hug the Doctor gave him came as such a relief he decided to let it slide.

‘Well, hurry up John. Your wife is waiting for you…’

As Sherlock went to get out of the car, he felt a hand pull him back to the seat.

‘Thank you, Sherlock.’

While this was something John had said a number of times before, the Doctor not having the same dislike of social pleasantries as he did, the deductive knew that these words meant a lot more than that.

‘You are very welcome, John. But please do get a move on; I’m given to understand it’s a little rude to be late to your own celebration’.

Yes, it had been a long, difficult five years since Sherlock Holmes didn’t die. However, if his deductions were correct, and they usually were, things were going to be just fine between the detective and his blogger.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It really means a lot!


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